Post by Steele on Jul 20, 2018 18:54:18 GMT -5
Danny Boy Davis stood motionless by the shabby wrestling ring in a dingy gym in a back street of Greater London trying to process what had just happened.
About half an hour ago, Jackson Steele had brought Danny and Del to the gym in order to prepare for his upcoming X-Crown Championship match at Night Of Champions. The “training” had consisted of a singular swipe of a kendo stick across Steele’s back, ostensibly to toughen the former AWF Champion up for the rigors of an ultra-hardcore four-cage match, but had resulted in Jackson demanding Danny pull his punches before storming out after a heated exchange that ended when Steel smashed the kendo stick against the ring post.
Danny stared at the empty doorway, wondering if the fire he had just seen in Jackson might resurface in the Four-Ring Circus match.
”I’ve never seen him that fucking pissed off..” Danny thought to himself. “He keeps that intensity up and he’ll just rip the others apart with his bare hands…”
“Danny?”
Del’s voice echoed in Danny’s head, but it didn’t seem to register.
“Danny?” Del repeated.
Danny suddenly snapped back to reality and looked to his partner.
“Where’s Boss man gone?” Del asked him.
“Fuck. I dunno.” Came Danny’s response.
Steele’s phone lay on the floor next to his jacket. He’d taken his wallet with him. Danny didn’t even bother to wait for Del. He broke into a sprint for the door, pushing through into the changing room and never breaking stride as he pelted into the lobby and then onto the streets themselves. He scanned the surroundings, his head spinning on a swivel, as he looked for any sign of Steele.
Nothing. No great fracas, no terrified pensioners or traumatised children.
”Shit.”
Danny went with his gut and ran to his left, towards the more populated area of the town. He reasoned that whatever Jackson’s motive, he’d head to wherever there was a greater chance of either being noticed or blending in.
Spotting a group of teenagers crammed into a bus shelter, he jogged over to them.
“Excuse me, lads…” he called out.
The tallest one barely turned his head to glance at Danny, but extended the courtesy of removing an ear bud. Danny held out a publicity shot of Jackson.
“...you seen this guy going anywhere?”
The tall one eyeballed the picture for a moment, and then pointed to his right. Danny followed the direction of his outstretched finger, across a road and straight to Barking Tube station.
“Shit.”
Nodding thanks to the lads, Danny took off again. He hoped that they were right about Jackson coming this way, but at the same time he hoped they weren’t. Barking Station served the Hammersmith & City and District lines of the London Underground, as well as the over-ground railway.
”He could be fucking anywhere in London by now.”
Danny sped across the street and towards the Tube terminal, fumbling with his back pocket to pull out his wallet. Grabbing his Oyster card with just half a second to spare, he swiped it across the sensor on the turnstiles and pushed through the gate.
He surveyed the scene. The station wasn’t too busy, but busy enough that Steele could get lost easily in the crowd. Danny started to push forwards towards the platforms.
“Jackson!” he yelled. Several commuters turned to look at him as if he was crazy. “Jackson!”
Danny needed to make a choice, and fast. Hammersmith & City, or District? Overground? He looked to the departures board, and noticed that a train was due to depart on the District line any second now. Making a split-second decision, he ran down the stairs and towards the platform.
As the train doors closed and the carriages began to pull out of the station, Danny saw the distinctive figure of Jackson Steele, red marks still visible on his forehead, slumped against one of the windows.
SOME TIME LATER...
“The next station is Notting Hill Gate.”
Danny rubbed his tired eyes as he prayed that this might be the one. The fourth station that he would have disembarked the Tube and gone out looking for one singular man in one of the most densely-populated cities on Earth. Luckily for Danny, Jackson Steele was a fairly simple man, predictable even in some odd way, and so Danny had compiled a short-list of the most likely places Steele may have gone on this line.
Of course, if he’d changed lines at any point on his journey, Danny could have already been barking up the wrong tree for several hours.
Having ruled out a sightseeing tour of London, Danny reasoned that Steele would have headed straight towards one of his biggest vices - alcohol. Not in some dingy ”Saarf Landan” pub, Steele would almost certainly have headed into one of the trendier areas of the City, to some swanky wine bar with exorbitant prices.
As the train slowed to a stop, Danny began his search again in earnest as he stepped out of the carriage and onto the station platform. Trudging wearily up stone steps he breathed the fresh air as rain began to lightly fall.
Notting Hill Gate was located in one of the more affluent areas of London, the borough of Kensington and Chelsea and while not a poor or run-down area it was definitely not the same Notting Hill of movie fame. That lay a little further to the North-West, though Danny strongly suspected that Jackson would not have known that.
As he passed by several expensive-looking cafes and wine bars all hoping to cash in on tourists’ confusion, Danny scanned the clientele inside.
Until, finally.
Finally.
After what seemed like an age spent searching, he happened upon the forlorn figure of Steele sitting on a high stool in the window of one establishment, a huge glass of wine before him. A mostly-empty bottle of wine stood nearby. Danny rushed to the door, and walked inside.
He quietly walked up behind Steele, who continued staring out of the window.
“I’m sorry, Danny.” murmured Steele. “I didn’t- I shouldn’t have-”
“It’s alright, Boss.” replied Danny. He didn’t want to risk riling up Steele any more now that he’d apparently calmed down.
“How did you find me?” Steele asked him.
“I figured you’d be here. Or Kensington. Or Knightsbridge.”
Steele turned round on his stool, almost teetering off of it. “You went to all those places?”
Danny nodded. Steele hung his head. “I’m… yeah, I’m sorry. I got hot-headed.”
“Well you should save some of that hot-headedness for your match. It doesn’t matter if you go mental on Anomaly or Ishimori. It does matter if you go flouncing out into the City and get so pissed you get yourself run over or beaten up.”
“Well… maybe one of the others might get run over first?”
“I doubt that very much. They’re all too busy doing press conferences or, you know, training for the match. They’re making sure that when they step into the ring against you they’re gonna have the perfect strategy to put you down on your back. And what have you got? A bar tab and a future hangover.”
Jackson smiled weakly and went to knock back the rest of his glass, though Danny intercepted it and pulled it out of his hand.
“I’m only looking out for you, Boss. That’s what you pay me for. And I ain’t doing my job right if I just let you piss your career up the wall, am I?”
Jackson nodded. This surprised Danny, he’d expected Steele to put up at least a token resistance.
“So what is it? Really? What’s sending you into this… this fuckin’ downward spiral? Eh?”
Danny came straight out with the forward line of questioning, having seen enough to hint that Steele’s defenses were lowered. Jackson sighed.
“When… it’s what you said. You know what it was.”
Jackson put one elbow up onto the countertop and rested his head in his hand.
“Right.” said Danny. “It opened up some old wounds, yeah?”
Jackson didn’t respond, but simply stared off into space. Danny waited for an answer and then, realising that none was coming, he followed Steele’s line of sight. Across the room at the bar, stood a petite brunette with her back to the pair. Jackson’s eyes never left her. Danny turned back to Jackson.
“You miss her, don’t you? That’s why you’re going spare.”
Jackson still said nothing.
“I don’t mean to sound… harsh, or anything, but… I think you might have burned that bridge now Boss.”
Jackson let out a huge sigh, but still his eyes wouldn’t budge from the brunette at the bar.
“Look,” Danny said, “Let’s get this match out of the way and then… then maybe we can start thinking about-”
He was cut off as Jackson suddenly lurched sideways. Danny spun round and noticed a rather tall man, roughly the same height as Jackson, standing over him.
“Oi mate, you got a problem?” the man bellowed. Jackson took a moment to compose himself and then turned to face the angry Londoner.
“Huh?”
“You’re staring at my bird’s arse, mate. You got a fucking problem?”
Danny went to stand, but Jackson held out a hand. “I got this, Danny.”
Steele slid off of his stool and drew himself up to his full height, coming almost nose-to-nose with the man.
“Have I got a problem?” Mused Jackson. He swayed slightly. “Well.. as a fatter of mact, yes I do.”
“You taking the piss or what mate?” the other man demanded.
“Oh no, I’m deadly serious.” Jackson slurred. “In eight days I’m gonna be… I’m gonna be locked in four steel cages… or one steel cage… with seven other people. Well… six other people and a woman. And you know what I’ve got to do about it? I’ve got be beat the ever-loving shit out of all of them. And do you know what? I’m gonna fucking do it. I’m gonna smashin' fuck them…. no…. I’m gonna fuckin’ smash them all. That a good enough problem for you, mate?”
The man looked at Jackson like he had just spoken to him in Spanish.
“What the fuck has any of that got to do with you ogling my missus? You think you’re some fucking hard case or something?” he spat.
Jackson grinned and shook his head.
“Oh no, sir. I don’t think that. Not at all. I know that. And I can tell you another… another thing I know for sure… you think I’m looking at your bird’s ass? Well I am… and I bet you I know how to please her better than you ever-”
Jackson’s new friend didn’t take kindly to this news. He immediately swung a punch that hit Jackson full across the face. Steele recoiled, and turned to face the man, blood running down his chin from a busted lip.
“Again!” Steele demanded. The man obliged, this time punching Jackson square in the mouth. Jackson fell back into the table and laughed. “Come on you pussy! That all you got?” he mocked. The man gave Jackson a backhander across the face. “Harder!” bellowed Jackson. “Harder! I bet she tells you that all the time! Fucking HARDER!”
The man’s face broke into a vengeful grimace. As the rest of the bar looked on in shock, he pulled back his fist to deliver a crushing blow. Danny readied himself to intercept - but as the man fired his fist forwards, Jackson caught it in mid-air, lunged and delivered a stiff knee to the midsection, backed off, and as the man staggered forward to make a grab at Steele he found himself scooped up in a belly-to-belly suplex as Jackson heaved backwards - and hurled the man clean over the tabletop and through the window with a sickening crash.
Danny could only look on in wide-eyed bewilderment as the world seemed to slow down. Patrons rushed outside to the injured man and Jackson held his hands up in victory. Jackson turned to Danny and his slurred words seemed to echo through Danny’s brain.
“That’s all it takes. You think I’m… I’m not prepared? Jackson Steele is always prepared, my man!”
”Jesus Christ…”
“Plate glass, steel cage… it doesn’t… it doesn’t matter. It’s all the same. People are gonna get hurt.”
”Jesus…”
Danny thought he’d seen it all up until this point. And to be fair, he’d seen a lot. But he hadn’t expected when he’d arrived in Notting Hill Gate that just minutes later he’d be watching Jackson Steele pitch a six-foot-three, two-hundred-odd pound man through a plate glass window. Let alone whilst absolutely tanked to the gills.
Whilst admittedly horrified, Danny was… impressed. He thought Jackson’s fire at the gym had shown some promise, here was more evidence that when pressed, Steele could be a ruthless and violent opponent.
Taking advantage of the commotion, Danny grabbed Jackson by the arm and they quietly fled the scene.
About half an hour ago, Jackson Steele had brought Danny and Del to the gym in order to prepare for his upcoming X-Crown Championship match at Night Of Champions. The “training” had consisted of a singular swipe of a kendo stick across Steele’s back, ostensibly to toughen the former AWF Champion up for the rigors of an ultra-hardcore four-cage match, but had resulted in Jackson demanding Danny pull his punches before storming out after a heated exchange that ended when Steel smashed the kendo stick against the ring post.
Danny stared at the empty doorway, wondering if the fire he had just seen in Jackson might resurface in the Four-Ring Circus match.
”I’ve never seen him that fucking pissed off..” Danny thought to himself. “He keeps that intensity up and he’ll just rip the others apart with his bare hands…”
“Danny?”
Del’s voice echoed in Danny’s head, but it didn’t seem to register.
“Danny?” Del repeated.
Danny suddenly snapped back to reality and looked to his partner.
“Where’s Boss man gone?” Del asked him.
“Fuck. I dunno.” Came Danny’s response.
Steele’s phone lay on the floor next to his jacket. He’d taken his wallet with him. Danny didn’t even bother to wait for Del. He broke into a sprint for the door, pushing through into the changing room and never breaking stride as he pelted into the lobby and then onto the streets themselves. He scanned the surroundings, his head spinning on a swivel, as he looked for any sign of Steele.
Nothing. No great fracas, no terrified pensioners or traumatised children.
”Shit.”
Danny went with his gut and ran to his left, towards the more populated area of the town. He reasoned that whatever Jackson’s motive, he’d head to wherever there was a greater chance of either being noticed or blending in.
Spotting a group of teenagers crammed into a bus shelter, he jogged over to them.
“Excuse me, lads…” he called out.
The tallest one barely turned his head to glance at Danny, but extended the courtesy of removing an ear bud. Danny held out a publicity shot of Jackson.
“...you seen this guy going anywhere?”
The tall one eyeballed the picture for a moment, and then pointed to his right. Danny followed the direction of his outstretched finger, across a road and straight to Barking Tube station.
“Shit.”
Nodding thanks to the lads, Danny took off again. He hoped that they were right about Jackson coming this way, but at the same time he hoped they weren’t. Barking Station served the Hammersmith & City and District lines of the London Underground, as well as the over-ground railway.
”He could be fucking anywhere in London by now.”
Danny sped across the street and towards the Tube terminal, fumbling with his back pocket to pull out his wallet. Grabbing his Oyster card with just half a second to spare, he swiped it across the sensor on the turnstiles and pushed through the gate.
He surveyed the scene. The station wasn’t too busy, but busy enough that Steele could get lost easily in the crowd. Danny started to push forwards towards the platforms.
“Jackson!” he yelled. Several commuters turned to look at him as if he was crazy. “Jackson!”
Danny needed to make a choice, and fast. Hammersmith & City, or District? Overground? He looked to the departures board, and noticed that a train was due to depart on the District line any second now. Making a split-second decision, he ran down the stairs and towards the platform.
As the train doors closed and the carriages began to pull out of the station, Danny saw the distinctive figure of Jackson Steele, red marks still visible on his forehead, slumped against one of the windows.
SOME TIME LATER...
“The next station is Notting Hill Gate.”
Danny rubbed his tired eyes as he prayed that this might be the one. The fourth station that he would have disembarked the Tube and gone out looking for one singular man in one of the most densely-populated cities on Earth. Luckily for Danny, Jackson Steele was a fairly simple man, predictable even in some odd way, and so Danny had compiled a short-list of the most likely places Steele may have gone on this line.
Of course, if he’d changed lines at any point on his journey, Danny could have already been barking up the wrong tree for several hours.
Having ruled out a sightseeing tour of London, Danny reasoned that Steele would have headed straight towards one of his biggest vices - alcohol. Not in some dingy ”Saarf Landan” pub, Steele would almost certainly have headed into one of the trendier areas of the City, to some swanky wine bar with exorbitant prices.
As the train slowed to a stop, Danny began his search again in earnest as he stepped out of the carriage and onto the station platform. Trudging wearily up stone steps he breathed the fresh air as rain began to lightly fall.
Notting Hill Gate was located in one of the more affluent areas of London, the borough of Kensington and Chelsea and while not a poor or run-down area it was definitely not the same Notting Hill of movie fame. That lay a little further to the North-West, though Danny strongly suspected that Jackson would not have known that.
As he passed by several expensive-looking cafes and wine bars all hoping to cash in on tourists’ confusion, Danny scanned the clientele inside.
Until, finally.
Finally.
After what seemed like an age spent searching, he happened upon the forlorn figure of Steele sitting on a high stool in the window of one establishment, a huge glass of wine before him. A mostly-empty bottle of wine stood nearby. Danny rushed to the door, and walked inside.
He quietly walked up behind Steele, who continued staring out of the window.
“I’m sorry, Danny.” murmured Steele. “I didn’t- I shouldn’t have-”
“It’s alright, Boss.” replied Danny. He didn’t want to risk riling up Steele any more now that he’d apparently calmed down.
“How did you find me?” Steele asked him.
“I figured you’d be here. Or Kensington. Or Knightsbridge.”
Steele turned round on his stool, almost teetering off of it. “You went to all those places?”
Danny nodded. Steele hung his head. “I’m… yeah, I’m sorry. I got hot-headed.”
“Well you should save some of that hot-headedness for your match. It doesn’t matter if you go mental on Anomaly or Ishimori. It does matter if you go flouncing out into the City and get so pissed you get yourself run over or beaten up.”
“Well… maybe one of the others might get run over first?”
“I doubt that very much. They’re all too busy doing press conferences or, you know, training for the match. They’re making sure that when they step into the ring against you they’re gonna have the perfect strategy to put you down on your back. And what have you got? A bar tab and a future hangover.”
Jackson smiled weakly and went to knock back the rest of his glass, though Danny intercepted it and pulled it out of his hand.
“I’m only looking out for you, Boss. That’s what you pay me for. And I ain’t doing my job right if I just let you piss your career up the wall, am I?”
Jackson nodded. This surprised Danny, he’d expected Steele to put up at least a token resistance.
“So what is it? Really? What’s sending you into this… this fuckin’ downward spiral? Eh?”
Danny came straight out with the forward line of questioning, having seen enough to hint that Steele’s defenses were lowered. Jackson sighed.
“When… it’s what you said. You know what it was.”
Jackson put one elbow up onto the countertop and rested his head in his hand.
“Right.” said Danny. “It opened up some old wounds, yeah?”
Jackson didn’t respond, but simply stared off into space. Danny waited for an answer and then, realising that none was coming, he followed Steele’s line of sight. Across the room at the bar, stood a petite brunette with her back to the pair. Jackson’s eyes never left her. Danny turned back to Jackson.
“You miss her, don’t you? That’s why you’re going spare.”
Jackson still said nothing.
“I don’t mean to sound… harsh, or anything, but… I think you might have burned that bridge now Boss.”
Jackson let out a huge sigh, but still his eyes wouldn’t budge from the brunette at the bar.
“Look,” Danny said, “Let’s get this match out of the way and then… then maybe we can start thinking about-”
He was cut off as Jackson suddenly lurched sideways. Danny spun round and noticed a rather tall man, roughly the same height as Jackson, standing over him.
“Oi mate, you got a problem?” the man bellowed. Jackson took a moment to compose himself and then turned to face the angry Londoner.
“Huh?”
“You’re staring at my bird’s arse, mate. You got a fucking problem?”
Danny went to stand, but Jackson held out a hand. “I got this, Danny.”
Steele slid off of his stool and drew himself up to his full height, coming almost nose-to-nose with the man.
“Have I got a problem?” Mused Jackson. He swayed slightly. “Well.. as a fatter of mact, yes I do.”
“You taking the piss or what mate?” the other man demanded.
“Oh no, I’m deadly serious.” Jackson slurred. “In eight days I’m gonna be… I’m gonna be locked in four steel cages… or one steel cage… with seven other people. Well… six other people and a woman. And you know what I’ve got to do about it? I’ve got be beat the ever-loving shit out of all of them. And do you know what? I’m gonna fucking do it. I’m gonna smashin' fuck them…. no…. I’m gonna fuckin’ smash them all. That a good enough problem for you, mate?”
The man looked at Jackson like he had just spoken to him in Spanish.
“What the fuck has any of that got to do with you ogling my missus? You think you’re some fucking hard case or something?” he spat.
Jackson grinned and shook his head.
“Oh no, sir. I don’t think that. Not at all. I know that. And I can tell you another… another thing I know for sure… you think I’m looking at your bird’s ass? Well I am… and I bet you I know how to please her better than you ever-”
Jackson’s new friend didn’t take kindly to this news. He immediately swung a punch that hit Jackson full across the face. Steele recoiled, and turned to face the man, blood running down his chin from a busted lip.
“Again!” Steele demanded. The man obliged, this time punching Jackson square in the mouth. Jackson fell back into the table and laughed. “Come on you pussy! That all you got?” he mocked. The man gave Jackson a backhander across the face. “Harder!” bellowed Jackson. “Harder! I bet she tells you that all the time! Fucking HARDER!”
The man’s face broke into a vengeful grimace. As the rest of the bar looked on in shock, he pulled back his fist to deliver a crushing blow. Danny readied himself to intercept - but as the man fired his fist forwards, Jackson caught it in mid-air, lunged and delivered a stiff knee to the midsection, backed off, and as the man staggered forward to make a grab at Steele he found himself scooped up in a belly-to-belly suplex as Jackson heaved backwards - and hurled the man clean over the tabletop and through the window with a sickening crash.
Danny could only look on in wide-eyed bewilderment as the world seemed to slow down. Patrons rushed outside to the injured man and Jackson held his hands up in victory. Jackson turned to Danny and his slurred words seemed to echo through Danny’s brain.
“That’s all it takes. You think I’m… I’m not prepared? Jackson Steele is always prepared, my man!”
”Jesus Christ…”
“Plate glass, steel cage… it doesn’t… it doesn’t matter. It’s all the same. People are gonna get hurt.”
”Jesus…”
Danny thought he’d seen it all up until this point. And to be fair, he’d seen a lot. But he hadn’t expected when he’d arrived in Notting Hill Gate that just minutes later he’d be watching Jackson Steele pitch a six-foot-three, two-hundred-odd pound man through a plate glass window. Let alone whilst absolutely tanked to the gills.
Whilst admittedly horrified, Danny was… impressed. He thought Jackson’s fire at the gym had shown some promise, here was more evidence that when pressed, Steele could be a ruthless and violent opponent.
Taking advantage of the commotion, Danny grabbed Jackson by the arm and they quietly fled the scene.